


San Francisco

by Poppedthep



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 03:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poppedthep/pseuds/Poppedthep
Summary: Spoilers for the finale! Brooke and Vanjie the night [spoiler] wins.Slight AU of seating positions if you’ve seen the top four queens reaction video.





	San Francisco

**Author's Note:**

> Never written something inspired by a source that wasn’t total fiction before! Goes without saying this is about completely fictional characters inspired by what the show and content around it have presented, not about or intended to comment on the actual real people themselves. 
> 
> This is a mini one-shot in the same universe as a longer fic I’m writing that is coming SOON.

Brooke is holding Vanjie’s hand when they find out Yvie wins.

Brooke is on the couch with the four, right hand on Yvie’s knee, Yvie's on hers, both squeezing tight.

Jose is perched on the arm next to them with a drink, in boy clothes. He managed to blag his way in there with them, of course. No one says no to Vanjie.

He's kept his distance all night, showing love to all the girls equally, but in the last second as Ru says “the winner of RuPaul’s Drag Race, America’s next Drag Superstar is…” Brooke feels Jose’s hand slip into her free one, linking their fingers and squeezing. She squeezes back, grateful, and doesn’t look away from the screen, tells herself whatever happens she’ll be okay.

And she is. Jose screams and hugs Yvie with the rest of the four, and then hugs Brooke longer and tighter, leaving an arm around her waist, waiting until everyone is following Yvie out and no one is looking at them to catch her eye and mouth “You okay?”

Brooke nods and forces her smile even bigger, just to reassure him. She is. Of course she’s a little disappointed, that’s natural, but she’d sort of felt it coming. Suspected it. She’s made her peace with it.

Everyone goes out to the viewing party to watch the crowning, mingle, take photos. As soon as they get out there Brooke is hugging Courtney, who can’t stop crying. Jose runs off to shop his Levis freebies, floating around in those red plaid pants like a snack.

Brooke Lynn smiles graciously, makes the rounds accepting hugs and drinks and congratulations and compliments, as beautifully poised as though she is wearing the crown. A pageant-perfect good-natured runner up.

Brock is proud of what he’s done. He’s grateful for everything. There are good things ahead and he’ll be fine.

“Look at you,” Jose comes over and perches next to him on a bar stool later, when most people have left, plopping his big Levis bag on the bar. In this position his head is above Brooke’s and he leans down and says,

“You my winner,” against her cheek.

“Don’t tell none of them other hos,” into her ear.

He links his hands around Brooke’s neck and Brooke turns her face into Jose’s collarbone, smiling at the familiar warmth, resting her arms around his waist in their easy cuddle.

“Look at him,” Jose says to apparently no one, gazing at her fondly, possibly tipsy.

Jose looks down and back up quickly, mischief and invitation in his eyes.

“Want me to make you feel like the winner tonight?” he flashes a conspiratorial smile, all teeth and cuteness, speaking low enough the people passing on their way out can’t hear.

“Don’t you even worry baby,” he growls, wicked but soft, "I’m bout to make you feel like the real queen."

He's definitely not sober but aware of what he's doing, shades of comforting and caretaking making his eyes soft beneath the mischief, even as his hand slips down the open back of Brooke’s gown to squeeze the top of her ass under the padding.

They’ve done it plenty of times when they’ve spent time together since the break up. More often lately since they’ve been seeing each other a lot. Now they’re on tour together it looks like there’ll be more ahead.

But Jose is sick today. Sore throat, stuffy nose, congested head, medicated and powering through it. No one could tell, he’s looking like distractingly fine trade in tight red plaid that leaves nothing to the imagination, but Brooke knows he’s not feeling his best.

“No, you’re sick, you don’t have to do that,” she protests, indignant on his behalf.

“I'm fine Mary,” Jose insists, “My pussy ready to pop twenty four seven, you know that. Don’t got to get ready if you _stay_ ready,” he winks.

But he also sniffles and he smells like menthol throat sweets and he doesn’t insist very hard. Brooke can tell it’s more about being there for her in case her ego needs it than Jose really wanting it tonight.

“No, you rest up, get your beauty sleep,” she teases and she already knows what’s coming when Jose clicks his tongue and quips,

“Bitch I don't need no beauty sleep. Look at this mug! Born beautiful, catch that” and snaps his fingers above their heads.

“That leopard catsuit though,” Brooke grabs his hip and gives him what she knows is a dangerously appreciative look but she just spent an hour rewatching how good Vanjie looked in that skin tight leopard print.

“Yeah?” Jose smirks proudly, pursing his lips, popping a shoulder.

“Yeah,” Brooke laughs, “And you know it,” she teases, "My best dressed."

Jose tilts his head and purses his lips again smugly.

“Damn right I know it. Your best drag queen. Winner of Season Eleven. Cut the check, bitch!” he snaps the air again and Brooke laughs instinctively.

“Right. This tired old lady needs to get to bed,” Brooke detangles herself before they get any further into flirting.

She gives Jose a big kiss on the cheek and says, “Thanks though. Love you,” only avoiding his lips because she doesn’t want to get sick.

Jose says “Love you too,” tilting his head and watching her leave from the bar stool with the same tipsy, fond gaze.

He's very cute. It blows Brooke's mind how Jose can look like such trade out of drag when he's such a pretty woman as Vanjie.

Brooke waves “Feel better,” blowing another kiss over her shoulder and heads back to her room to listen to Nina’s album on Spotify again with Courtney.

Hours later it’s two am. Courtney left at eleven and Brock is in bed but can’t sleep. He stares at the ceiling, his thoughts racing with what’s to come next. It’s hard to plan for. It’s so unknown. It’s all good things on the horizon but he feels a looming dread for no rational reason. The crown would have given more structure and certainty to his post-show path. Things will still be good, he knows they will, but there are so many unknown variables now.

He really needs to sleep. They’re flying early, have Vancouver tomorrow night. He can’t make his brain turn off. The dread is growing, forming into anxiety.

He needs a distraction from his racing thoughts. The best distraction he knows conveniently happens to be staying a few doors down.

Brock doesn’t want to bother him at two am when he’s sick. But he did offer earlier…..

He tries to sleep for twenty more minutes before he gives in and texts Jose:

_Hey, are you awake?_

_Am now bitch. Whats up?_

_Wanna come visit for a bit?_

Minutes later Jose knocks his door. Brock answers shirtless in sleep sweats, not bothering to turn on any lights other than the bedside lamp.

Jose is in boxers with a robe loosely around his shoulders and raises his eyebrows when Brock opens the door, running his eyes down Brock’s chest to the v above his sweats.

“Change your mind?” he smirks.

Brock opens the door wider to let him in before answering, wary of not giving anyone the chance to spot him there and get even more involved in their personal lives than everyone is already.

Jose scoots past him smirking, keeping eye contact, their hips brushing with just sheer cotton between them. Given that they mostly touch in drag these days, it’s overstimulation. His dick twitches involuntarily and for a moment he’s overwhelmed with wanting to grab Jose, run his hands all over him.

But he really didn’t ask him to come over for sex. Jose is sick. He’s in a weird headspace. Neither of them are really in the mood for it. He just knows the spirit that is Vanjie will be able to distract him from his thoughts, lighten his mood.

“No,” he laughs, “I didn’t change my mind.”

Jose’s eyebrows shoot higher, doubting.

“I swear,” he protests. “I just couldn’t sleep. Wanna talk for a bit?”

“Okay,” Jose nods warily, getting softer and more serious, waiting to see what Brock needs from him.

“We can get in bed if you want. Then you can fall asleep if I’m boring you,” Brock says.

Jose huffs a laugh and says, “Okay,” again, and gets in the left side of the bed, the side he always used to take, putting his phone face down on the bedside table.

Brock slips in the other side. They lie down on the starchy hotel pillows and turn to face each other.

“So how you feelin?” Jose asks softly, looking him over.

“Good. Weird,” Brock shrugs.

Jose nods and sniffles, suppresses a cough.

“Are you okay?” concern makes Brock’s voice soft.

“Mmhmm,” Jose answers, shifting on the pillow, sniffling a bit more. Brock reaches to the bedside table and hands him a tissue.

“Thanks,” Jose blows his nose.

“Sorry to get you out of bed when you’re sick,” Brock’s voice is naturally soft and gets softer with worry. Jose never doesn’t look good, but he’s starting to look noticeably sick. Brock will feel bad if he's sicker tomorrow because of him.

“We in bed now, ho," Jose has a small smile. "Anyway I don’t mind. Wasn’ really sleeping.”

Brock feels an involuntary smile spread and he was right about his choice of distraction.

"You better keep them nasty toes over there, though, or I ain't being held responsible for my actions," Jose jokes, pleased when Brock properly laughs.

He lasts all of two minutes on the opposite side of the bed before he scoots over to Jose like a cat for a cuddle.

Jose opens his arms and Brock shuffles down and rests his head on Jose’s smooth chest, feeling arms wrap tightly around him.

He just breathes there for a moment, calmer, safer, comforted already.

“Don’t freak out. You did so good. I’m proud of you. Everybody proud.” Jose says soothingly. His hand strokes across the tired muscles in Brock's back.

“You gonna be fine. Hell you already fine. Fine as hell and gonna be fine. You’ll get so many gigs. People love you.” His hand strokes through Brock’s hair, scratching at his scalp and Brock leans into it, rubbing his cheek against Jose’s chest.

“Thanks,” he sighs softly. “It’s just not knowing. Everything starts now and I want to make the most of it, do the best I can. I don’t want to miss anything or fuck anything up or…” he exhales his perfectionist frustrations with himself in a sigh.

“You won’t fuck anything up. You’re amazing,” the rhythm of Jose’s hand in his hair and the lull of his voice is relaxing. The certainty in it makes him feel strong, makes him believe him. Something about his energy just oozes positivity around them, even when he’s not making jokes.

“Take it one thing at a time. Gotta slay this tour first. You will, you're fierce. Keep doin them Lives talkin it up with the fans. You good at that.”

The pads of Jose’s fingers draw circles on Brock’s scalp and he feels like he could purr.

“Then we going to Europe with Miss Nina West. Girls on tour. Girls gone wild! London baby!” Jose’s voice gets playfully raucous and Brock looks up and sees Jose looking down at him hopefully, trying to make him smile, so he does. Jose blows him a kiss in the air. Brock blows one back and settles his head back down.

Jose plays with his hair in silence for a while. The hotel mini fridge hums. As though he senses Brock’s intrusive thoughts starting to creep back Jose starts talking again softly,

“You not on your own. You got an amazing team. You got Steve and Courtney and your mom. You got Plastique, Nina, Rajah, Tynomi. Gia, Brynn, Farah, all your friends,” his breath hitches slightly before adding, “And me.”

“Thanks, big guy,” Brock sighs again, softer. The nickname slips out accidentally, he feels Jose twitch involuntarily at it beneath him. He presses a kiss into Jose’s chest and feels Jose kiss the top of his head.

“We all believe in you. You a winner baby. And I done this shit before. I’ll help you.” Jose's fingertips smooth over his brow, flattening out invisible lines before dipping back into his hair.

“Thanks,” Brock murmurs again, truly grateful. “You’ve already helped me so much already,” he says on a yawn.

His thoughts are finally quietening down and allowing him to get sleepy. He yawns again into Jose’s warm skin.

“Get excited, bitch. This gonna be a good year,” Jose sniffles again. Brock feels his chest shake as he suppresses a cough.

“Yeah, it is,” Brock wills himself to believe it. He stretches to the bedside table to hand Jose another tissue. The air away from Jose is so much colder, even just those few inches of bed, and he feels immediately relieved to snuggle back down close.

“It’s gonna be good," he repeats to himself.

"Gonna be real good, bitch," Jose is yawning now too.

He falls asleep not long after on Jose’s chest, lulled by gentle affirmations and gentle fingers on his scalp.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
